


Of Dark Mages and Ice Dragons

by BPforShort



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken
Genre: Don't say I didn't warn you, F/M, Family, Like seriously Hector-size spoilers, Pre-FE7, Pre-Scouring, Romance, Spoilers for FE7, Tragedy, very big spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BPforShort/pseuds/BPforShort
Summary: When a prodigy in the field of Elder Magic is forced to flee into the frozen mountains north of his home, his life is saved by the resident Ice Dragon. Gratefulness soon turns to closeness, but this very relationship is what sets Nergal on the inevitable path to his much more ignominious doom...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, this fic will chronicle Nergal's life from his meeting with his wife to his death at the hands of Eliwood's company. For those of you who know the ins and outs of FE7 as I do, it will contain nothing new or surprising, but I hope the writing and the pre-scouring chapters will make this worth reading, regardless.

The mountains to the far north of his home were eternally snow-capped, well-known for their treacherous terrain and cold winds. Without the guidance of an ice dragon and careful preparation, they were uninhabitable to humans and traversing them was a death sentence. And still, the young human male, clad in thick black robes, found himself struggling, pushing on against the blizzard. One foot in front of the other, cloak wrapped around his nose and mouth, and with one hand in front of his face as he clutched his satchel with the other, he pressed on, stubbornly continuing in what he only knew to be an endless, white wasteland that steadily sloped up.

They wouldn’t follow him here, he told himself, gritting his teeth. No man was stupid enough to brave these mountains by himself in midwinter. It was suicide. And that was exactly why it had been the best course of action. If he could get over the crest of the mountain, he would be safe. The people of the frozen wastes were well-known for their hospitality. They would welcome him. Perhaps shelter him. And even if they didn’t, he supposed he could shelter himself if he really had to. He could always travel on… but this journey over the mountain would buy him time. Even if they chose to pursue him here, they would need time to do so…

A particularly powerful gust came by from an unexpected direction, almost throwing him off his feet and into the snow. Just in time, he managed to catch himself and reclaim his balance, clutching his satchel closer as if he feared the contents escaping. He should have listened to the warnings, he told himself. He had fallen for the age-old trap of believing that ‘it wouldn’t happen to him.’ A beginner’s mistake! Never in his life had he been so wrong, and this was the one time when being wrong meant he could very well have died. He didn’t want to think of what would have happened to him if the kindly librarian hadn’t disregarded his own rules and barged into his library as quickly as his legs and his cane could carry him to warn him of the hostile newcomers’ arrival.

But it looked like in the long run, they would still have their way, he realised as his legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees, using the hand he had held in front of his face to support himself. He was so, so cold. He had run, like a coward. His village had told him to run. So he had run. And now, he was on his knees in the snow, a layer of frozen water particles thick enough to engulf him almost to his chest now that he was on all fours. Still, he crawled on. He couldn’t stop here… this was not how he was going to die. Not when he still had so much to learn, so many spells to develop, so many secrets to unravel.

But now, his arms started to give out, too. If he stayed in the snow, he would surely die… but his body refused to move no matter how he willed it to. His mind was too consumed by pain and cold to remember if he knew a spell that would force it to move. His lips were too numb to have formed it, anyway. What a terrible way to go, he thought to himself. For a moment, he thought the wind died down, but it was too little, too late. He passed out, the last thing to grace his eyes a large, black shadow in this endless plane of white.


	2. Chapter 2

The first sense that came back to him was his sense of touch. He felt… warm. His body was engulfed by something soft on all sides, barring his head which only rested on something soft. He wasn’t cold. His body wasn’t numb. He turned over, and the softness stayed. It was nice.

The second sense to return was his sense of smell. A gentle, pleasant aroma wafted into his nostrils, the scent of warm meat and broth. His stomach growled. He hadn’t realised how little he had eaten since leaving the settlement at the base of the mountain. He turned over again, the scent now more prominent.

Third was his sense of hearing. The wind still howled around him, though much less loudly than it had before. It was muffled, as if there was something very solid between him and the blizzard. The soft warmth around him implied the same. He heard himself heaving a sigh of relief, prompting an odd sound akin to a soft gasp from somewhere nearby him.

He was moved. Soft and gentle, but strong hands pushed him into a sitting position, using the soft mass that had been under his head to support his back. Soft murmurings in a language he either had never learnt or wasn’t lucid enough to understand followed, interrupted by the cold hand on his forehead. He shivered- the touch was unpleasant. And then, his sense of taste came back to him fourth. The warm broth he had smelt was carefully spooned into his mouth, spreading the warmth that had come from around him to his stomach and from there, throughout all of him.

And then, finally, he had the sense to open his eyes, reclaiming his sight. He had to blink a few times, his eyes unaccustomed to the light in the area, but finally, although he had to squint, he found himself looking around what seemed to be a simple bedroom. “Naga’s ever-merciful soul,” a clear voice said, a voice that matched the murmurings earlier. “You’re awake.” He turned slowly, to not agitate his eyes, and opened them just a crack further. In front of him was a being of ethereal beauty. That was… the only way he could describe her. Blinking again, this time in disbelief, he opened his eyes fully to regard her.

He was sitting in a bed, which explained the softness and the warmth. On the edge of the bed, however, sat a young woman with a pale complexion, against which her ruby red eyes jumped out at him. They were looking at him softly, a smile around her peach-coloured lips. What really struck him was the long, ice blue hair that framed her beautiful features, though. It hung down past her shoulders, stopping just short of her waist, and was neatly tucked behind her pointed ears. In her hands, she held a bowl of what had to be stew and a spoon. So she had been feeding him. “How are you feeling?” she asked, placing the spoon into the bowl and putting her hand on his forehead again. “Apart from cold, I mean… can you move all your limbs?”

“I believe so,” Nergal muttered, his voice protesting against the concept of being used. Still smiling, she dipped the spoon into the bowl and fed him another spoonful of stew. He was grateful for it, and yet he also felt his cheeks heating up at the idea of being spoonfed like a small child. “I’m not numb anywhere. Mostly just… weak.”

“You -were- in quite a state,” the woman said, her features clouding with concern as she put a hand on her collarbone. Now, Nergal took a closer look at what she was wearing- a simple, aqua dress just a touch darker than her hair, with a white shawl off her shoulders. Around her neck hung a silver chain with an ebony ring hanging off it, which he realised she was fiddling with. “Of all the people I’ve ever encountered, you were by far the furthest gone… I feared I wouldn’t be able to save you.”

“But you did,” Nergal realised, pausing to put a spoonful of stew into his own mouth and swallow it. “Thank you, benevolent dragon.”

“Now, none of that silliness,” she quickly said. “I just did what anyone with half a heart and a drop of decency in their body would have done. It’s my job to help travellers on this mountain, especially those who find themselves overwhelmed by the seasonal blizzards we get.” She looked out the nearby window, shaking her head at the sight of the wind still whipping around the house, hailstones and snowflakes riding its powerful gusts. “Humans never learn…” she lamented to herself, but quickly turned back to Nergal. “I’m just glad I found you when I did. What’s your name?”

“Nergal,” he said, immediately wanting to slap himself for being so careless.

“Nergal,” she repeated, shutting her eyes as if she were tasting the name. “…ah! You wouldn’t happen to be -that- Nergal, would you? The famous prodigy?” His heart sank. So his name and reputation preceded him even here, on what may well have been the highest point in Elibe, in the presence of a member of the other dominant species on the continent. He just hoped she wasn’t a member of the cult. She was still smiling when he nodded in confirmation, though, so he dared to believe himself safe. “I thought so…” she muttered, “Your black robes and lack of muscle definition are so typical of human mages.”

“What of you, miss?” he asked, finally deciding to steer the conversation away from himself. “What is your name and story?”

“Oh, I’m Aenir.” Aenir. A typically dragonic name, he thought, with sounds that were pronounceable, but not common in human names. Still, it was not unpleasant to his ears. “And I’m afraid I don’t have much of a story to tell. I’m just one of the many Ice Dragons who make Ilia our home. We thrive on these temperatures and enjoy the fresh breeze of a midwinter blizzard.” She smiled as she said that last bit, knowing fine well that what she called a ‘fresh breeze’ was capable of killing weaker beings. She stood up from the bed. “I enjoy this place as the perfect habitat for someone of my constitution,” she began, “But what could possibly bring a human wizard all the way up here?” She tipped her head to the side as she asked it. “You were in no condition to cross the mountain, even if there hadn’t been a blizzard.”

Nergal hesitated. She had recognised his name, had guessed him a wizard. There was a good chance she knew he was a scholar of Elder Magic, too. And she hadn’t undertaken any action against him just yet. So there was a good chance she wasn’t with the cult… Could he trust her? Under her scrutinizing, concerned gaze, he caved. “I’ve had to flee my hometown,” he said. “There’s a slowly growing cult that adheres to a new conviction and way of life…”

Aenir interrupted him. “The Cult of St. Elimine?”

“Ah, you’ve heard of them?”

“You could say that,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and making an indignant face. “I got into the spat of the century with one of their members in town just a few days ago. He wanted me to stop helping human travellers and limit my interactions to those with my own kind, because humans and dragons mingling was unnatural and dangerous.” She sighed, still looking annoyed at the memory. “So I transformed, took a swipe at him, and that was that.”

“You did what?!” He stiffened. It had almost completely slipped his mind that Aenir being a dragon meant she had an alternative, enormous reptilian form that could tear him limb from limb with little effort, and the suddenness with which she reminded him jarred in his mind.

To his relief, she laughed. “No, of course not. What kind of brute do you take me for?” Stopping her laughter, her smile remained. “I did transform, but only because four legs offer better balance to scale the mountain with than two do. I walked away. I know better than to get into an argument with a calf.” That was an… interesting choice of words. Nergal supposed that compared to her potential age, an adult human -was- like a child. He had always respected the draconic tribes of Elibe for their near-infinite lifespans and the wisdom that came with such great age, more so than for their immense physical strength. “But I’ve interrupted you,” she said, “Please, continue.”

“That you know of the cult makes this explanation easier,” he said, before continuing as if he’d never been interrupted. “Just as they have criticised you for your mingling with the human race, they seem to harbour a hatred for those who study and research the art known as Elder Magic. They call it Dark Magic, and its scholars and devotees heretics and devils. As fate would have it, I am one such scholar…” He shook his head, frustration finally creeping to the surface. “I merely study these tomes in an attempt to understand them. Never have I lifted a finger to harm another living being, with or without them. And yet, this cult found it necessary to invade my village in hopes of capturing me and... heavens know what then.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you understand, Lady Aenir. I could not stay. I thought Ilia and its notoriously extreme weather conditions would deter them from chasing me.” He sighed. “I’d say that I was correct in that assumption, if only because I overestimated my own fortitude.”

“That you did,” Aenir said. “You were severely undercooled when I found you. I’ve seen people who suffered that fate collapse well after they thought they had recovered, so I can’t in good conscience let you continue on your way.” That stung. It would give his pursuers time to catch up. “On the plus side,” Aenir continued, either not noticing or simply not acknowledging his pained expression, “I don’t really use this room other than to house travellers who need to stay. And I don’t think anyone else will be desperate enough to brave the mountain in the near future… the blizzard’s strength is unreal in midwinter. You can stay here for as long as you need to recover.”

“That is gracious of you, Lady Aenir,” he said, “But I would hate to impose. This vendetta the cult seems to have against me should not cause trouble for you.”

“If I can grate those brigands a little by harbouring a dark mage in need of warmth and food,” she interrupted him before he could insist that he leave, “Then I will happily do it. They know they can’t force me to stop and it will make them so angry.” She laughed. “It’ll be fun to see. So don’t worry about it. It’s no trouble on my part.”

“I…” he tried to think of counterarguments, but closed his mouth. She was right. He was in no state to continue his travels. Besides, from what she had told him, there were cultists on the other side of the mountain, too, so he would only rush into the arms of others. Damn his fame as a scholarly wonder, he thought. At least with Aenir around, he would have a guardian who was neither afraid of the cult nor so weak that they would overpower her. He nodded. “I must thank you again, then.”

“Don’t mention it. Now,” she said decidedly, straightening out the sheets he was under, “Finish your stew. I’ll go check on your papers.” He almost choked. His satchel! He had completely forgotten about it. It must have fallen into the snow when he had passed out, and it was only waterproof up to a certain level… “Don’t worry,” she hurried to assure him, “They should all be salvageable. I took them out of your satchel and I think they’re all untouched. You’ll have to make the final check for yourself, though. I can’t make heads or tails of those weird squibbles.” He nodded furiously, continuing to spoon the slowly cooling stew into his mouth.

When she left the room, an uncomfortable sense of dread crept up on his stomach along with the pleasant warmth of the stew. This had gone a little too smoothly. His life had been saved, he had been offered a place to stay until he recovered, and Aenir had even salvaged his tomes and his research and promised to be his guardian for the time being, in case the cult did catch up with him. It was more perfect than he could have hoped for when he had left. There had to be a catch.

What was the catch?


End file.
